


You Are My Princess (You Make Me Smile)

by osaki_nana_707



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osaki_nana_707/pseuds/osaki_nana_707
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"She looks up, and her eyes twinkle when she grins, as if she’s reading his mind and—oh, fuck, she is Eames’s. How the fuck did he miss this? How could he possibly overlook something this big, this important?"</i> In which Arthur meets Eames's daughter, becomes a Prince, rescues his knight, and falls in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are My Princess (You Make Me Smile)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Moja księżniczka](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6049561) by [Prus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prus/pseuds/Prus)



The job's been had.

Arthur knows it the moment he wakes up with the barrel of a gun pressed to his forehead. He manages to give the guy a good, swift kick to the testicles since he was idiotic enough to not keep watch of Arthur's feet, but a bullet still grazes his shoulder as he rolls out of his chair. The PASIV device is still attached to him, and it's far from pleasant when he quickly rips the cannula from his arm and crams the wiring gracelessly back inside. He shuts it and promptly turns, slamming it violently into another of the bastards trying to capture them, surely knocking out some teeth and breaking a nose.

There's six or seven of them in the room now, and Arthur can already see that their chemist and architect are dead. The extractor is gone.

Eames.

Eames was their extractor and he was _gone_.

Arthur can only hope that he escaped… somehow.

Arthur fights his way out, calm precision with his Glock and fists and feet, and then he runs. The few he hasn't killed are giving chase, but if there's one thing impressive about Arthur (and there is most definitely more than _one_ thing), it's that he is quick. He bolts through the foggy, rainy London streets, weaving in and out of alleyways, cutting through abandoned buildings, slipping into and out of crowds seamlessly.

Finally, he thinks he's lost them, and he takes a moment to breathe.

Arthur leans against a brick wall, chest heaving, shoulder screaming, legs burning, and he thinks about Eames.

Eames, who just this morning had swaggered in, all confidence and humor, sauntered over to Arthur's desk, leaned against it, and said, "Terribly sorry, darling, but I don't think we'll be able meet up at my flat tonight." Loudly. So everyone could hear.

Arthur had narrowed his gaze at Eames and hadn't dignified him with a response. It didn't matter. Everyone had thought they were sleeping together since the first day on the job when Eames had handed Arthur a key to said flat and told him to drop by any time before unexpectedly smacking his ass on the way out to lunch. Asshole.

…It's weird to think that the team that had been thinking that is dead now. It doesn't seem to matter how many times it happened (which wasn't that often because normally Arthur was more prepared—he'd done this job on a favor to Eames and _not_ because he liked him), he never gets used to it.

He digs in his pockets, wincing at the movement of his shoulder, and finds the key Eames handed over to him. Arthur remembers everything about everyone in the business (okay, maybe that's a little bit of an exaggeration, but he remembers a lot) so he knows exactly what door in London this key unlocks. He decides that it's a good place to go for a temporary safe house, long enough for him to stitch up his wounds and clean the blood off of his face and check up on Eames. Eames might even be there himself.

So, Arthur crosses London, taking three different taxis for safety's sake.

He goes up the steps to the front door, finding the house alarmingly… domestic. It's got a fucking _picket fence_ out front and _flowers_ in boxes under the windows. There are even fucking _lacey curtains_.

Arthur begins to suspect this might not be Eames's house, that perhaps he's gotten the information wrong somehow, but then the key fits in the lock, and he's inside.

…and there's no _doubt_ that this is Eames's house. Arthur would recognize the poor taste in furniture style anywhere.

Arthur sighs, shutting the door and tossing his ruined blazer over a chair, setting the PASIV down in the seat. He hunts down the downstairs bathroom, finds a first aid kit, and settles in the kitchen where he can spread things out and disinfect tools in hot water. He makes himself at home in a way only a criminal on the run can, carefully unbuttoning his blood soaked shirt and peeling it off the left side of his body. He starts cleaning the wound, biting down on his already aching split lip (one of those bastards had gotten a lucky shot—at least they hadn't broken his nose), and then he proceeds to start stitching it up.

…and then he hears someone on the stairs.

Arthur wants to kick himself. He hadn't done a sweep of the house, hadn't even thought to because this was _Eames's_ place and his shoulder had been hurting, and he just wanted to get it cleaned and figure out where Eames was and catch the first flight _out of here_ and…

Arthur grabs his Glock out of his holster, aiming it at the doorway. "Eames?" he says cautiously, voice level, low, intense.

Arthur's pessimistic side expects it to be one of his pursuers . Arthur's optimistic side expects it to be Eames.

Neither side expects it to be a little girl in Disney pajamas.

…but that's exactly who it is.

The little girl wanders in sleepily, seeming not to be fazed by the fact that a gun has been pointed at her. She's got strawberry blonde hair hanging down to her shoulders, a fringe of it hanging right at her eyebrows. Her eyes are dark blue, and she has a nose covered in freckles. She is also sporting a familiar looking mouth.

"Hello," she says in a thick English accent. "Are you one of Daddy's friends?"

Arthur gapes like a fish, gun still held in the air.

"That's a nasty li'l wound you got there, innit?" she says, smirking a familiar smirk as she pulls out a couple of drawers, using them as stair steps to get to the cupboard above the counter, pulling out a box of Lucky Charms. "Not really sanitary to clean it in the kitchen, yeah? T'each his own, I guess. You want some cereal?"

"N… no thank you…" Arthur says awkwardly, watching her clamber down and carry the box over to the table before going to the fridge and finding a carton of milk. She stands on her tip-toes to grab a bowl and a spoon out of the dish strainer and returns to the table with everything.

She clambers into a chair and sits, legs kicking off the side, and she smiles. She's cute, in that mischievous, she-might-be-evil sort of way. "So," she says, "What's your name?"

Arthur finally sets the gun down, making sure the safety is on, and then he goes back to stitching his wound. "Uh… I—I'm Arthur," he mumbles.

She shoves a mouthful of cereal between those full lips of hers and doesn't seem to mind talking with her mouth full. " _Oh_ ," she says, drawing it out. "You're _Arthur_."

Arthur raises an eyebrow.

"Daddy's told me about you." Swallow.

"Daddy?" Arthur asks flatly. She can't be referring to _Eames_.

Sure. She _looks_ like Eames. She knows who Arthur is because her Daddy has told her about him and the key Eames handed him fit into the door of this house, but… She can't be, she _can't_ be referring to Eames because there's no way Arthur could have missed that Eames has a _child_.

She nods, scooping another spoonful into her mouth. "Yeah, Daddy says you're his _friend_. He says you're a stick-in-the-mud with no imagination. He also says you're ace with a gun though and smart too."

"Does he," Arthur says, voice just as monotone as before.

She looks up, and her eyes twinkle when she grins, as if she's reading his mind and—oh, _fuck_ , she _is_ Eames's. How the fuck did he miss this? How could he possibly overlook something this big, this important?

She keeps eating while Arthur is having a mental crisis, drinks the milk out of the bowl while he's bandaging up his wound.

"So, who are you?" Arthur asks.

" Madeline Elleree Eames," she responds promptly, "and that's Mad-eh-lynn, not Mad-eh-line, mind you, but Daddy calls me Maddie."

Arthur's eyebrows shoot up on his forehead.

She grins, little white teeth and all. "You thought Eames wasn't Daddy's real name didn't you? He always says the most convincing lie is the truth."

Arthur's head spins for a moment, but he recovers. "Okay, is your Dad here?" he asks, looking around, waiting for Eames to jump out and laugh.

"No," she blinks. "He went to work this morning. S'only eleven o'clock. He usually isn't back until late."

Arthur's stomach drops to his feet, and he's not really sure why. He doesn't let it show on his face though, not wanting to worry Madeline.

"Well, do you think you could—" God, it hurts to say, "get me one of your dad's shirts?"

She nods and disappears, stomping her way up the stairs. While she's gone, Arthur completely removes the bloodied shirt and tosses it onto the table. He goes back into the downstairs bathroom and tends to the wounds on his face, freshens himself up so he doesn't smell like someone who's been running all over London, smooths the rebellious curls of hair down with Eames's pomade.

Madeline returns, handing over a surprisingly tamely designed shirt. It's blue with white pinstripes, and Arthur thinks that Eames probably looks really good in the shirt because it brings out the color of his eyes… _not_ that he was thinking about him _that_ way. Arthur just knows fashion.

"Is this all right, Arthur?" she asks, and for some reason Arthur can't help but appreciate the lack of the qualifier 'Mr.' before it. Phillipa always calls him _Mr. Arthur_ and it makes him feel so old.

"This is fine, thank you," Arthur mumbles gingerly sliding it over his injured shoulder and then the other shoulder. It's too big and absolutely hangs on him, but it's good enough for now.

When he looks up, Madeline has disappeared again, but before he can even fathom the idea that perhaps she's a figment of his imagination, that the bullet was laced with some sort of hallucinogen (and he's pretty sure that doesn't even make sense), she returns, dressed.

She's in a red and white-striped top with dark jeans rolled twice at the bottom and red Chuck Taylors. Her hair has been pulled back and tied with a navy ribbon. Momentarily all Arthur can think is _well, at least someone in the Eames family has a sense of style._

"Arthur," she interrupts his thoughts, and he marvels at the way his name sounds just the same on her tongue as it does on Eames's, give or take a few octaves.

"Yes?" he asks, pulling the tails of his shirt down before he zips up his pants and fastens his belt.

"Do you not know where Daddy is?"

"I'm sure he's fine," Arthur says but even as he says it he's digging out his cell phone and dialing Eames's number to ask him where the hell he is and how long he intended to hide out for before remembering he has a child that no one else seems to know about sitting back at his house.

The phone doesn't even ring.

_The number you have dialed has been disconnected._

Fuck.

"Arthur?"

He looks up, finding Madeline has walked back into the front room and she's looking out through the lacey curtains.

"What is it?" he asks, trying not to sound shaken by the fact that Eames's phone is disconnected. She can't be any older than seven or eight.

"D'you have any friends who drive black cars?"

"…N…"

The window shatters as bullets hit the glass and all Arthur knows is that one minute he's standing by the bathroom door and the next he's on the floor on top of the little girl, shielding her should anything come her way. Surprisingly she gasps but does not scream.

Arthur loops an arm around her waist and hoists her up with his uninjured arm, grabbing the PASIV with the other, and he runs through the house just as the door is busted open.

"There's a car in the garage," Madeline helpfully tells him and even manages to reach out and grab the entire key rack off the wall as they dash through the door. He throws her and the PASIV inside and climbs into the seat and—

"Wrong side, darling," she teases, and she sounds so much like Eames that Arthur wishes he had the time to comment on it.

He slides over to the right side of the car and takes the key she hands him from the back seat and manages to pull the car out, crashing through the garage door, just as their pursuers start shooting. It's not his most graceful escape, but it's an escape just the same.

"Stay down on the floor of the car," Arthur demands of Madeline. "Understand?"

"Of course I understand, I'm not deaf, you don't have to yell," she says lightly, folding her hands across her stomach and wiggling the tips of her toes. "D'you mind explaining why they're shooting at you though? I know they're not shooting at me, at least. I haven't done anything that would require that amount of punishment."

"A job went bad," Arthur explains as he takes a sharp corner far too quickly and barely manages to keep the vehicle from tipping over. They're following in their own car. Arthur can see it in his rearview. "Do you know what your daddy does?"

"Grandmummy grumbles about him being a criminal. They argue about it a lot when they think I can't hear them. I think Daddy feels quite badly about it though, now that she's in the hospital."

Arthur takes a split second to glance back at her, seeing a solemn expression that's surprisingly subtle for a child. Eames has taught her well how to not wear her emotions on her sleeve unless she needs to.

"Is that why you're with your dad? Do you usually stay with your grandmother?"

"Usually," she shrugs. "Whenever Daddy's not working he'll either come see me or I'll go see him at the house. I suppose we won't be going back to that house anytime soon though. Where is Daddy?"

A knot forms in Arthur's stomach, and he's so sure that he can't lie to her because he knows she'll know. She'll be able to tell.

Voice level, he tells her, "I don't know."

He cuts across traffic just as a light changes, is nearly hit three times, and watches in the rearview mirror as the black car that had been following them takes the hits.

"Madeline, do you have your passport?" he asks.

* * *

Madeline doesn't have her passport with her (since they clearly didn't have time to pack), so he drives to the airport, abandons the car nearby (taking the license plate of course) and manages to get them tickets to Paris. He has plenty of places to hide there, and though he wishes they could have done several flights to throw off anyone following their trail, he figures it'll have to do. The lady at the airport smiles at them as he hands over their tickets, and Arthur offers a curt nod back. They don't usually smile at him like that.

"You have such a beautiful daughter," the lady says.

"D-daugh—" Arthur stammers.

"Thank you, m'um," Madeline replies, slathering on an obnoxious amount of charm that is cavity inducing.

"Enjoy your flight."

He's sure they'll manage. It's only a little over an hour flight. Arthur can only hope that his latest batch of enemies won't think that he'd travel somewhere so close, that they'd overestimate his skills or think that the Paris flight is a bluff. He at least managed to book the flight using one of his clean passports while conjuring up an identity for Madeline in line to get the tickets (he is convinced now that his iPhone can do _anything_ ).

Once they get to the city and out of the airport without the sound of gunfire ringing in his ears, Arthur feels just slightly more at ease. He squeezes the handle of the PASIV in his fingertips. "Let's go," he tells Madeline and feels the strangest sensation when she suddenly takes his hand in hers.

He walks her through the street and finds that they blend in perfectly. She doesn't resemble Arthur at all physically, but no one seems to assume she's anyone but his young daughter. He stays silent, and she's quiet too, as if speaking is dangerous (and it very well could be).

After a half hour of wandering past shops and cafes, Arthur is sure they're not currently being chased, and Madeline softly says, "I've never been to Paris before. Daddy said he'd bring me here in the summer when I'm out of school."

"Are you not in school right now?" Arthur asks, scanning the crowds. "It's a Thursday, so shouldn't you have been in class?"

"It _is_ summer," she tells Arthur, laughing. "I imagine Daddy would have taken me here when his job was done… Where do you suppose he might be?"

"Hopefully in a safe house, lying low," Arthur says, glancing both ways down the street before leading her across and down a narrow alleyway. "Don't worry. If anyone can find him, I can, and I _will_."

"I never doubted for a moment," she replies. "Daddy says that out of everyone he works with, you're the only one he trusts. I tell Daddy, 'that's quite a beastly job, innit Daddy? Why would you want to work with blokes who could cock up the whole thing? That's a load of cobblers, Daddy.' He says 'Oh, no, I don't mind because I know if I were to get into some dodgy situation, I know _Arthur_ would get me out of it. He'd never let me live it down, but he'd get me out of it.' That's what he says."

Arthur leads her down some stairs to an unassuming door built into the side of a building and starts sifting through his keys for the right one. "He… he really says _I'm_ the only one he trusts?"

"Yes. Well. No, you and this bird Ariadne but only because she's so green that she wouldn't know how to sell someone out."

Arthur swallows, not sure why the fact that Eames trusts him makes him feel all warm inside.

He gets the door unlocked and has her wait in the doorway while he checks the tiny apartment for anything or anyone that could bring them harm. They're safe. For now.

He lets her come in and shuts and locks the door. "There's internet on the computer," he says, "but I'll have to go buy some groceries. Um… television… there's a bed in the back if you want to take a nap. Just uh… make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Arthur," she says and stands in the middle of the room, looking around as if trying to decide. Then, she turns back to Arthur and asks, "What _do_ you and Daddy do?"

Arthur sighs. "We uh… well, I'm not sure I should tell you."

"I've been shot at and taken to Paris. I think we're there," she responds blithely. God, she's just like Eames.

Arthur sighs again and sits down on the couch. She crawls up next to him, bringing her knees up to her chest and crossing her ankles, intently listening. "We um…" Arthur exhales a third time. "We steal things. From people's dreams."

Her eyes widen in wonder. "How d'you go about doing that?"

"With that," Arthur says, pointing to where he's set the PASIV down on the table. "We use that machine, the PASIV device—oh, that stands for Portable Automated Somnacin IntraVenous device. Somnacin is a sedative that—"

"I don't need the bloody details. Just tell me what you do."

Arthur stares at her for a moment. "We use the machine to go into other people's dreams and steal their secrets to give to the people who hired us."

"Well, I can't imagine why anyone would want to kill you over that," she says sarcastically.

"Very funny," he replies. "It is dangerous, but there's nothing quite like it."

She seems to accept this answer without issue, stretching her legs out in front of her. She's so tiny, Arthur realizes, so fragile. She's like Eames without the brazen exterior and brute strength. Despite her cool demeanor, she's still very much a little girl. It's bizarre.

"So…" Arthur says. "You and your dad are pretty close, huh?"

"I love Daddy more than anyone else on earth."

Arthur's heart aches, and he realizes just how concerned he is about Eames's safety. He gets up and goes to the computer and starts hunting down any information he can. He hopes that he'll still be able to track Eames by the microchip in his phone, even if the damned thing is off or broken.

"I'm sorry," he says softly as he works, "that you got dragged into all this."

"S'all right," she shrugs, spreading her little self out long-ways on the couch. "If I had to pick anyone to protect me, it would be you. Daddy says you protect like it's all you have."

Arthur isn't sure what to say to that, so he keeps looking at the screen. He's getting a whole new picture of Eames from Madeline, one that contradicts with his assumptions, and he doesn't know what to do with the information.

"Arthur?" she pipes up after a few minutes.

"Yes?"

"Who protects you?"

"What do you mean?"

She sits up. "Who protects you when you're in danger?"

Arthur blinks. "I do," he replies. "I take care of myself."

"That's not very fair," she frowns, "You shouldn't have to do all of the work with none of the profit. Everyone should have someone who makes them feel safe."

"I think I can manage," Arthur shrugs. It doesn't bother him. It _doesn't_.

"Well, when we find Daddy, I'll tell him to pick up some of the slack and take care of you. He listens to me." Confidently.

Arthur feels heat rising in his cheeks at the disaster that conversation would bring. He can already hear Eames teasing him, telling him just how _good_ he's going to _take care_ of him. All the same, he can't bring himself to tell her not to because the important thing right now is that there will be an Eames to talk to.

He works for a few hours, finding next to nothing, and then he goes out and buys he and Madeline dinner. They sit at the squashed little table and eat, and she talks almost nonstop about Eames. She tells Arthur all about the fun adventures they have, the blanket forts, the bedtime stories. She tells him about their long drives into the countryside, singing Elton John as loudly as they can, about how he cried during her performance as Wendy in Peter Pan at school because he was so proud of her. He'd come to that performance with a broken nose and her grandmother had yelled at him about being irresponsible. Madeline claims that Eames told her that he was doing the best that he could.

Somehow, Arthur manages to ask, "Maddie, what happened to your mother?"

She doesn't seem hurt by the question, though she momentarily goes silent. "Oh, she died giving birth to me. I never knew her. It was some kind of hemorrhage or something. Daddy and Grandmummy whisper about it sometimes. Daddy loved her a lot but Grandmummy says that she wasn't very nice to Daddy. Grandmummy says that she didn't care about Daddy."

Arthur's heart clenches.

_Daddy says that out of everyone he works with, you're the only one he trusts._

Arthur scoops ice cream into bowls for dessert and hands Madeline a bowl, and she coos over how it's her favorite flavor (cherry is his favorite too, but he doesn't tell her). As he sits down with his own bowl she says, "Thank you, Arthur, for taking care of me."

Arthur blushes. "Oh, um… well, actually you probably wouldn't have been in any danger if I hadn't—well, in any sense, you shouldn't thank me…"

"If you hadn't come though, I would have been alone. What if Daddy didn't escape for weeks?"

Arthur just looks at her, so tiny in her chair, eyes big and honest. He can see it lingering there behind her gaze now, the fearful doubt that Eames will escape, that her daddy might die… that he might already be dead…

Arthur's voice shakes a little as he says, "Y… you're welcome…"

* * *

After dinner, Arthur works for a few more hours and looks up to find Madeline drooping on the couch in front of the television. She's had a big day.

"Looks like it's bedtime for you," Arthur finds himself saying, and that's a sentence he never expected to come out of his mouth.

She hops off the couch without complaint and takes his hand, letting him walk her back to the bedroom. "Don't have no pyjamas…" she mumbles as he hoists her onto the bed.

Arthur starts untying her shoes. "I have a few pairs of clothes here. Would one of my shirts suffice?"

She nods, long eyelashes fluttering closed.

He undresses her slowly and gently, folding each item and setting it aside in a neat pile. He pulls the ribbon out of her hair and then the ponytail holder, slipping it around his wrist for safe keeping. It's sparkly and green and doesn't match anything else on her person.

How very Eames of her.

He digs through the drawers until he finds a t-shirt and pulls it over her head. It hangs to her knees while the sleeves go past her elbows.

He pulls back the blankets for her and goes to leave. "Okay, um… goodnight."

"You're not going to tell me a story?"

Arthur pauses in the doorway. "I uh… I'm not all that good at stories."

"I don't mind," she says. "I need a story before I go to sleep. I don't care if it's bad, honest."

Arthur hesitates and then nods, returning to the room and sliding onto the bed on the other side. She snuggles down into the covers, leaning her head against his ribcage, and he tries to think of something.

"Um… okay… So… Once upon a time, there was a uh… a Prince. Uh, the Prince was smart and brave, but he was… he was trapped in a tower. The King wanted the Prince to follow in his footsteps and run the kingdom, but he didn't want to. He wanted to be free to make his own decisions, so one night he escaped his tower and disguised himself as a knight. He joined with the other knights to go face mythical beasts, like dragons, and giants. The brave Prince was impressive in his skills and was given the most difficult of quests. Eventually, his quest was ah… to—to hunt down an enchantress and convince her to join their kingdom and help fight their battles.

"The Prince hunted day and night for the enchantress, traversing through swamps and grasslands and forests, and finally he came upon her home. The enchantress was beautiful and invited him in, and the Prince didn't realize he had been cast under a spell until it came time to ask her to return with him and he realized that he did not wish to. He wanted to stay with the enchantress and serve as her loyal knight. She allowed him, letting him stay with her and the other knights and maidens she had placed under her spell, and they all went on many dangerous adventures together. The Prince even made friends with several of the other knights and maidens. Some other knights and maidens grew jealous of their camaraderie, of the enchantress's favoritism and tried to harm them. A great battle broke out and many perished. The Prince was injured, protecting one of his new friends, sliced along his hip with a sword, and he would have died if it hadn't been for fellow warrior ah—um… Eros, yes, uh, fellow warrior Eros stepped in to rescue him.

"The Prince gratefully thanked and thanked Eros, but Eros assured him that he had no reason to be so grateful. The Prince was from that point on loyal to Eros and from that day forth decided to protect him… Every night he had a scar on his hip to remind him of that fateful day he almost died, and, no matter how many times he saved Eros from danger, Eros continued to say that it was no trouble. Eros didn't understand how much it meant to the Prince to have someone genuinely care about him, for, as the Prince got older, he discovered that the King and the knights and the enchantress only cared about what he did and not who he was. For the rest of his life, the Prince would continue to serve Eros loyally… and finally, finally he was happy. Um… the end."

He looks down at Madeline, finding that his arm has wound around her at some point during the story, his fingers playing gently with her hair. The little girl is fast asleep, leaning heavily against him. He stares down at her, feeling that same warmth in his body that he felt earlier, and then he lays he down, tucks her in.

He hesitates… and then he kneels down and kisses her forehead.

He sleeps on the couch that night, in boxers and a t-shirt, and he worries about Eames.

* * *

When Arthur wakes up, it's to the sound of his computer beeping.

He leaps off the couch, blanket fluttering to the floor behind him. It's finally picked up Eames's cell phone signal.

It's in Russia, smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Arthur suspects that Eames is being held there by the men who were chasing him and Madeline. The guy they were hired to extract from was Russian and carrying missile secrets.

Arthur writes down exactly which latitude and longitude the location is and hurries into the bedroom to go and take a shower.

Madeline is still sleeping. He had almost forgotten about her.

He goes into the closet and pulls out one of his bespoke suits, carrying it with him to the bathroom. He starts the shower, undresses, climbs in. He washes his hair and body, gets out, and wraps a towel around his waist. He's shaving when Madeline wanders in.

"Good morning," she greets, not seeming bothered by his nakedness.

"Sleep well?" Arthur asks, tilting his chin back to get his neck.

"Yes. Thank you for the story."

"You're welcome," he mumbles, washing out the razor.

"Can I have a bath too?"

Arthur nods. "I'll just be a couple minutes."

She leans over the edge of the tub and plugs the drain and then turns the water on, adjusting it until she likes it and then leaves it to fill. She looks back at Arthur and grins like she's just discovered a big secret, and he doesn't understand why until he realizes that the towel is slung just low enough on his hips to reveal the end of his scar.

"You fancy yourself a Prince, Arthur?" she asks and giggles as he shoos her out of the bathroom.

* * *

Arthur calls in a favor from Saito, and the two of them have tickets and a private plane waiting for them at the airport within the hour. He and Madeline have a quick breakfast of eggs on toast, and then they head out.

"You look handsome today," Madeline says as they walk in step with one another. "D'you always dress this nicely on rescue missions?"

"You always want to dress like you mean business," Arthur tells her. "Also, a suit is a great outfit to hide weaponry in."

"Daddy says you're the finest dressed bloke in all the world."

"He's exaggerating."

"He does like to do that, yes," she agrees. "I think he likes you quite a lot though. I like you too. He's right about you."

"What, about me being a stick-in-the-mud with no imagination?"

"No… about you being a fine, upstanding gentleman. Also a badass."

Arthur laughs.

She grins, nose scrunching up, and announces, "He told me about that too."

"About what?" he chuckles.

"Your smile."

Arthur's blushing. He can't kid himself.

* * *

They've been on the plane for a half hour when Madeline asks, "So, what are we doing? What's the plan?"

Arthur is looking through a provided suitcase of weaponry, fist pressed to his mouth. It takes him a moment before he registers he's been spoken to, and then he turns to her and says, "I'm going to storm the place and save Eames."

"What do I do in the meantime? You're not going to make me wait on the plane, are you?"

"It's too dangerous for you to go in with me," Arthur replies.

"I can hold my own. I know how to shoot a gun. I know how to drive a car too. Daddy taught me, just in case I ever needed to know."

"That doesn't mean you can go storming into a heavily guarded facility. I don't even know how bad it's going to be. I'm not putting you at risk. I've already done that more than enough and Eames would never forgive me."

She pouts, folding her legs up to her chest and crossing her ankles. "That's not fair. I got to come all this way and I'm going to spend the entire day just sitting here with nothing to do."

"I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't leave you by yourself in Paris though. Eames shouldn't have left you alone at home."

"He had no reason to believe I'd be fired at," she shrugs, "and it wasn't like he had much of a choice. He was forced to take me in because of Grandmummy's condition. I don't mind being there by myself. I can take care of myself when I need to. I'd prefer to live with him if I could, but I know it's not easy… Perhaps you could train me, you and Daddy, so that I could work in dreams too! We could all travel the world together, and I could help. No one would suspect a little girl of stealing secrets, and I reckon that I'd be quite ace at it with you and Daddy on my side."

"I… don't think so," Arthur chuckles and watches her expression turn offended.

"I could do it!" she scoffs.

"I'm sure you could, but you should spend your days going to school, playing with your friends. You know, being a _kid_. You don't want to miss out on life's experiences because you're working."

"Don't you miss out on a lot of experiences because _you're_ working?"

Arthur smirks at her. "I've had plenty of life experiences by now. I'm talking about the typical things. You know… like… your first kiss, your first date, your graduation, the first time you fall in love… stuff like that."

"Have you ever been in love, Arthur?"

Arthur's lips flatten into a line, and he looks back to the weapons. "No… at least, I don't think that I have… It's something you're supposed to just _know_ when it happens, isn't it?"

"How should I know? I'm seven," she replies. "You're the adult here, you know… but… well, I suppose it's possible to not know you're in love, but I imagine it's one of those things that's obvious to everyone but you, yeah?"

The corners of her mouth quirk up just a little, her eyebrows rise, and Arthur realizes that she's not simply stating her opinion of childlike wonder. She's trying to make a point.

Arthur looks down at the suitcase of guns and knives, thinks of the scar on his hip, and of the story from the night before.

_The King and the knights and the enchantress only cared about what he did and not who he was._

"Yeah," he says softly. "You might be right about that."

* * *

They're flying over the building, and Arthur's got his parachute on, and that's when Madeline stops him.

"Arthur, wait," she says, grabbing him by the sleeve.

He turns to look at her, and her eyes are wide and frightened. "Arthur, you'll come back with Daddy, right?" she asks, voice shaking.

After all… she's just a little girl.

"I will. I _promise_ I will," Arthur tells her.

Madeline throws her arms around his waist and squeezes him. He kisses the top of her head.

"I'll come back. Just wait here for me and Eames, okay?"

"Okay…" she whimpers, voice muffled from his clothes. "You'll come back and we'll go buy suits. I want to mean business too."

"I'll buy you a beautiful suit," Arthur says, petting her hair. "Everything is going to be fine."

She finally releases him and looks up at him, offering him a smile. "Go and save him… and be careful with that shoulder."

"I will," Arthur says, and he jumps.

The feeling of falling is surprisingly nice.

* * *

Arthur rolls to a stop on the ground in front of the facility and has a gun in each hand by the time he's up on one knee. He fires, killing the first guards that were coming his way when he landed. Arthur's always been a dynamite shot.

He gets up and beats one of them against the head with the butt of the gun, swings a leg around and lands a kick in another's solar plexus, and then he steals their keys. He busts in and immediately opens fire on the men who rush him, knocking over a metal table and using it as a shield as he reloads. He shoots all to kill except one, and he maims him enough to go down but not die. Arthur crouches over the man, pressing the barrel of the gun to his head and says, "Where is he?"

"Wh-who?" the man stammers, wincing as Arthur digs the heel of his foot into the bullet wound in his stomach.

"You know who," Arthur says darkly.

"T-two… two thirty n—nine."

"Thanks," Arthur says, and shoots him in the head.

He takes off down the hall but only comes across more people to fight. The place is more heavily armed than he expected, and he does take a few hits. His nose is bloodied, his left eye blackened. The split in his lip breaks open again. He takes bruises to the chest, arms, and legs. His shoulder nearly gives but he swallows the pain and battles his way through, determination fueling him. He remembers that rumors had gone around that Arthur was a one man army. It was probably the most truthful rumor about him.

He finds the elevator and for a brief moment he has a second to breathe. He licks the blood off of his lips, reloads with his last round, slides his fingers around the hilt of a knife he's got prepared in his belt.

Even through the sirens signaling his intrusion are blaring, he's thinking clearly. He's thinking of Madeline, waiting for him up in the plane, big blue eyes full of tears. He's thinking of Eames, somewhere in the heart of this building, possibly dead. He's thinking about how he can't bear that. He's thinking that Madeline has most definitely made her point.

The doors open.

He tears through.

By the time he reaches room two thirty-nine, his hair is falling in his face, sticking to the gash on his forehead, and his suit is rumpled and torn and stained with blood. He gives the door a harsh kick and it falls open. Effortlessly he tosses the knife at the man standing in the room, the blade sinking into his neck and causing him to tumble over, voice gurgling with blood.

…and there's Eames.

Eames is tied to a chair and has somehow managed to look worse than Arthur. He's shivering because the room is freezing and there's almost not a single part of his face that isn't bruised or bloody. He looks up at Arthur and manages a smile. "Arthur…" Eames says, voice hoarse.

Arthur drops to his knees and starts untying Eames's ropes. "How badly have they hurt you?" Arthur asks. "Broken bones?"

"My nose might be smashed again," Eames says, "and I'm pretty sure my left arm is broken. I'll mend… Oh, god, Arthur I am so bloody happy to see you. You have no idea."

"I think I have some idea," Arthur explains. "They've been chasing me too. I promise I'll pay for any of the damages done to your house."

Eames's expression shifts then to a face Arthur's never seen before. It's an expression of sure and honest absolute terror mixed with a hint of a broken heart and a heaping spoonful of guilt. "Arthur, Arthur, _no_ ," he says, voice cracking.

"Don't panic," Arthur says, untying Eames's hand. "No one's hurt."

Eames's fingers wrap gently around Arthur's wrist, and that's when Arthur realizes he's still got Madeline's hairband there…

…and Eames cries, just a little. Arthur's sure it's out of relief, and there's no way he'd ever make fun of him for that.

"Oh, God… you… God, Arthur, she's safe, you kept her safe, I knew that you would…" Eames whimpers, dropping his forehead to Arthur's shoulder.

"Of course I did," Arthur says gently, settling a hand over the back of Eames's neck. "Can you stand?"

"Yes… yes, probably, but I haven't eaten in a few days so I don't know how long I'll manage." Eames lifts his head, sniffs, and looks into Arthur's eyes with the same big, blue, honest ones Madeline had given him. "Arthur. Thank you."

Arthur smiles, remembering the scar on his hip, the way 'Eros' had rescued him, and he says, "It was no trouble."

He helps Eames to his feet, hands him a few of his knives, and tells him to cover him from behind. Eames isn't above making a comment about Arthur's behind after he says this, but rather than annoyed, Arthur finds comfort in it. Now that he knows Eames is okay, he can silently admit to himself how terrified he was that Eames might _not_ have been okay.

They travel through the long corridors, Arthur keeping Eames close to his side as they make their escape. "Jesus, you really did a lot of damage," Eames mentions, winded. Arthur pauses and feels Eames lean heavily against him. "I'm sorry. I'm hurting a lot more than I thought I would. I think my ankle is twisted… It was so cold in there, I couldn't feel it."

"Do you need me to carry you," Arthur grins, his smile only widening when Eames makes a noise of disapproval.

"I'm not an invalid yet, love. It's just taking me a bit to get a little pep in my step."

Arthur turns so he's facing Eames, holding him up really, and says, "Maybe I can help with that."

…and Arthur kisses him.

It's far from the best kiss ever, considering it tastes like blood on both ends and kind of hurts their stinging lips, but Arthur thinks the spontaneity of the moment is worth it. He's never been spontaneous, after all, and he thinks in the future he might like to give it a whirl more often.

When they part, Eames's eyes are wide and sparkling. "What was that for?" he asks, breathless, a smile spreading across his face.

"It was a little overdue."

More enemies come around the corners before he's able to say anything else, so they turn their attentions to fighting their way through.

* * *

By the time they get outside, both of them are shaking from an adrenaline crash, bloodied and bruised. Arthur's pretty sure he broke a finger against one of their stupid faces, but he still manages to text the flight attendant.

The plane comes down, and Arthur hoists Eames's arm over his shoulder and leads him to the door. Before they can even get there, it's pulled open, and there's Madeline, strawberry blonde hair whipping in the wind and cheeks wet with tears.

" _Daddy_!" she cries, and Eames pulls free from Arthur, drops to one knee, and catches her when she runs into his arms. "Daddy, oh, Daddy…"

"Shh… oh, love… oh, sweet love, it's okay… Daddy's okay…" Eames says, looking more relieved and at ease than Arthur's ever seen.

"Grandmummy's been so sick, and I thought I was going to lose you too!" she blubbers, fists clenched in the fabric of his shirt. "Oh, Daddy…"

"It's all right…" Eames coos, stroking her hair. "It's okay… You've been so brave, Maddie. My little Maddie Mag-Pie."

Arthur smiles at the sight. It's sweet, and he's not completely made of stone.

"Let's get Daddy inside, Maddie. We've got to tend to his wounds. Want to be my assistant nurse?"

"Yes, sir!" she says, and then surprises him by throwing her arms around Arthur too. "Oh, thank you, Arthur, thank you."

* * *

The three of them go back to Paris where Eames gets his arm put into a cast and Arthur is the second one to sign it (Madeline is first, of course).

"You know," Eames says as Arthur signs his name, "if this was you, I would have drawn a phallus."

Arthur snorts. "Don't tempt me."

"Daddy, are you going to be all right?" Madeline asks.

"Of course, love," Eames tells her, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "How about you run downstairs and get Daddy a bottle of water, please?"

She smiles and accepts the money he hands over, skipping away.

Arthur watches her leave the room, only turning to look at Eames when his name is suddenly called.

Eames is staring at him, and everything seems to have shifted somehow. Eames has _never_ looked at Arthur this way. "You kept her safe," Eames says.

"Of course I did," Arthur replies. "I'd have to be a heartless bastard to leave her… even if I am kind of the one who put her in danger to start with—"

"It's not your fault," Eames interrupts. "You didn't know. I never told you… I never told anyone, I…" he sighs. "I wanted to keep her world separate from this one. I thought if she wasn't a part of that life then she'd be safer… I guess I was wrong."

"You've raised her to be perfectly capable should that part of your life blend into hers."

"Of course I did. I've never been so afraid in my life, the day she was born… I've also never been so bloody happy."

"I know," Arthur says, touching the side of Eames's face. "She's a special girl."

"She's my _life_ … Arthur… and you protected her where I couldn't. I owe you… e-everything."

"It was no trouble," Arthur replies, smiling. "You've saved me plenty of times."

"And you've saved me."

Eames reaches up and wraps his hand around the one on his face. "Arthur…" Eames says.

"Eames," Arthur says, "just… so we're clear, um… I trust you too. Maddie told me about what you said… and… I…"

Arthur pauses, clears his throat. He knows he's blushing, can feel the heat burning in his cheeks.

"I… well… she actually told me a lot of things, and I… well, it helped me figure some things out…"

Eames grins, all crooked teeth. It's cute in that mischievous, I-might-be-evil sort of way.

"Oh?" Eames asks, raising his eyebrows. "What words of wisdom did she bestow upon you?"

"Well… I'm pretty sure she's under the impression that we're in love or something."

"Oh, my, well," Eames says, rolling his shoulders—one and then the other, "that's awkward, innit? She's very seldom wrong, after all. It would devastate her to find her mistaken."

"Who says she's wrong?" Arthur asks, smirking. "You've been chasing me for _years_."

Eames's grin falters a little, and he blushes a bit. "Yes, well… I don't quite know about _you_ though."

"I told you that I figured some things out, didn't I?" Arthur asks, leans in, and kisses him again.

This kiss is much better. Definitely. It's warmer, softer, and tastes a lot less like blood.

It's so good that they just keep doing it, tilting their heads, tasting each other, letting their tongues explore each other's mouths, and really the only thing that stops them is when they hear a giggle.

Madeline stands in the doorway with a bottle of water, grinning ear to ear. "Oh, pardon me," she says with a voice full of laughter. "I didn't mean to interrupt your snogging."

"Oh, shut up," Eames teases. "Come over here."

She does, crawling up into his lap and curling up against his chest. "I'm just joking, Daddy. I quite like Arthur. He's everything you said he is and more. Personally, I think he's brill and would love for him to be around more often."

"He's not better than me, is he?" Eames asks, kissing her forehead.

"Your stories are better," she assures him, "but his fashion sense is far superior."

Arthur grins and Eames does too.

Once they're released from the hospital, Arthur's going to buy her a fancy bespoke suit, and he's going to take Eames and her both to the Eiffel Tower. Out of all the years Arthur's known Paris, he's never been.

…and he thinks he'll convince Eames to take a short vacation from dreamsharing with him so they can go anywhere else Maddie might fancy.


End file.
